Pentecost 15
14 September 2025
Vineville Baptist Church
Macon, Georgia
Gregory Pope
TOM SAWYER, LADY LAZARUS, AND MEADOWLARK LEMON
Acts 9:36-43. Psalm 90.12, 17
Tom Sawyer, Joe Harper, and Huckleberry Finn decide one day to become pirates. They take a small raft to Jackson’s Island, build a fire, eat their food, swim a little, smoke a pipe, and fall asleep. The next morning, out of food, they plan to go home. But then they see a glorious sight. There’s a crowd of people on a ferryboat dragging the river looking for three drowned boys – the same three boys who are watching this magnificent spectacle. And it dawns on them: They are missed. People are worried. Hearts are breaking on their account. Tears are being shed.
So Tom comes up with the brilliant idea of waiting one more day and then going back for their funeral. The church is full when the three pirates sneak into the balcony to listen to their funeral sermon. The preacher draws such pictures of the goodness and rare promise of the three boys, that everyone there feels remorse because they had persistently seen only faults and flaws in the poor, lost souls. The minister relates touching incidents in the lives of the departed that clearly illustrate their sweet and generous natures. The congregation becomes more and more moved as the pathetic tale goes on, till at last everybody breaks down and joins the weeping mourners in a chorus of anguished sobs, the preacher himself giving way to his feelings and crying in the pulpit.
And at that very moment the three boys come marching up the aisle. Aunt Polly and the Harpers hug them and smother them with kisses. The minister shouts: “Praise God from whom all blessings flow! Sing it! And put your hearts in it!” Tom Sawyer looks around at all the boys in the crowd who are green with envy. And he knows that this is the proudest moment of his life. Attending his own funeral is the best idea he’s ever had.1
Unlike Tom Sawyer is a woman in the Book of Acts named “Tabitha,” also known as “Dorcas,” referred to by Barbara Brown Taylor as “Lady Lazarus.” Her story is told in today’s scripture reading. She could not take any credit for attending her own funeral, because it wasn’t her idea. Before Darren and Samantha had their bewitched little girl, this Tabitha was a gracious woman and disciple of Jesus whose full-time job was taking care of everyone she knew and some she didn’t. She was, as someone put it, “the kind of woman every mother wants her son to marry and every old man wishes he had.” When Tabitha becomes ill her friends assume that this Proverbs 31 woman will be just fine. How could anything bad happen to someone so good? When Tabitha dies they are heart-broken. They weep as they tenderly care for her body and lay her in bed.
Someone suggests they send for Peter, who is eleven miles away. He loved Tabitha as much as anyone. When Peter gets there he goes upstairs and sees the women crying. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s going to do. But he remembers Jesus and the healing of Jairus’ daughter whom everyone thought was dead. So he clears the room, sending everyone downstairs. Then it gets a little tricky. Luke, the one who wrote this story, wasn’t there. When he heard it he probably thought about toning it down and making it more believable, especially for the skeptical, educated crowd. But finally he decided to tell the story like he’d heard it and let people make up their own minds. The way Luke tells it, Peter kneels and says, “Tabitha, get up.” He probably says it softly, because he doesn’t want anyone to hear him in case she doesn’t get up.
But Tabitha does get up. She goes downstairs and attends her own funeral. Her house is filled with flowers. She can hear sobbing from the kitchen. She sees mascara running and the table covered with clothes that she had made. She’s so pleased to see her friends and family. She hasn’t seen some of them in years. They see her and hug her and cry for joy. Someone shouts: “Praise God from whom all blessings flow! Sing it! And put your hearts in it!”
When we imagine our own funerals, and most of us secretly have, we picture them like Tabitha’s. Friends and family will come from miles around. Hearts will break. Mascara will run. They will need dozens of boxes of Kleenex. Everyone we’ve ever known will be there to join the weeping chorus. They’ll fill the balcony. The choir loft will be full. The minister will talk about how kind we were to the minister. Others will talk about how wonderful we were, and how they wish we could be there to see how much we were loved. And best of all, the few people who did not recognize how wonderful we were will see how terribly, terribly wrong they were about us, and feel just awful about it. The headline in the Macon Telegraph will read, “Saint Passes On to Glory.”
The truth is: Most funerals aren’t nearly so grand. Attendance is low. Most of the pews are usually empty. Even though Yogi Berra warned us: “If you don’t go to other people’s funerals they won’t go to yours.” We’re afraid a grandson will call and say, “I’m sorry. It’s so far. I can’t get off work.” The widow worries there won’t be enough pallbearers. The family has trouble thinking of touching incidents. All they can say was that he was a penny-pincher or that she loved jewelry. At some deaths, the reading of the will takes longer than the eulogy – and draws more attention! Sometimes nobody cries.
Obituaries tend to include information that makes the lives of the deceased seem inconsequential. They tell when they were born and when they died. They list their occupation, their relatives, the organizations to which they belonged and the arrangements for burial. They seldom say anything about how the deceased lived, what mattered to them or what difference they made. Most obituaries make the dead sound like they hardly lived, almost as if they wasted their lives.
Very few obituaries are written like this one because this one was penned beforehand by the deceased himself: “Louis J. Casimer, Jr. bought the farm Thursday, August 25th, having lived more than twice as long as he had expected and probably three or four times as long as he deserved. Although he was born into a stone-broke family, in a backward and benighted part of the country at the beginning of the Great Depression, he never in his life suffered any real hardships. He survived three years overseas in an infantry regiment in excellent health, then attended a university for four years on the GI bill, and never thereafter had to do an honest day’s work. He was loved by good women, had loyal friends, and all his children were healthy, handsome and bright. For more than six decades he smoked, drank, and ate lots of animal fat, but never had a serious illness or injury. His last wish was that everyone could be as lucky as he had been, even though his demise was probably inadvertent. He was preceded in death by his wife of 43 years. (And then he lists his survivors). Lou was a daredevil. His last words were: “Watch this!” A memorial service and barbeque will be held on Labor Day at Lou’s place.”
How many of us, I wonder, never really live, just simply exist? We pass our days as if we will never run out of days. We give too much of our time to things that don’t really matter. May we learn to pray with the psalmist: O God, teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
Larry King published a book several years back entitled Remember Me When I’m Gone in which he asked famous people to write their own epitaphs and obituaries. Here’s a sampling:
Comedian Dave Barry: “Dave’s not here.”
Baseball great Yogi Berra: “It’s Over.”
Magician David Copperfield: “I get to heaven and Moses won’t leave me alone with the ‘My miracles are bigger than yours’ bit.’ By the way, Moses looks nothing like Charlton Heston, but he’s a dead ringer for Samuel L. Jackson.”
Prominent physician Patch Adams said: “Don’t remember me when I’m gone. Remember to serve the causes of peace, justice, and care. As Albert Einstein said, ‘Only a life lived for others is a life worthwhile.’”
Meadowlark Lemon of the Harlem Globetrotters perhaps said it best: “Life is not measured by what you possess but by what possesses you. I have known most of the luxuries money can afford and the admiration that comes with fame. The pleasure of signing autographs and meeting multitudes of smiling faces warms your heart. Yet, the greatest thrill, the greatest moment of my life, was when I was introduced to the Architect of the whole universe and found He loved me for me, not for what I could do. I have been called the Clown Prince of Basketball, an Ambassador of Good Cheer to the World, but to be a Child of God is the highest honor anyone could have.”2
Many of us would not dare write our own epitaph or obituary because we are unable to deal with the reality of our mortality.
Three friends were asked: “When you’re in your casket, and friends are mourning over you, what would you like for them to say?”
Artie said: “I would like them to say that I was a wonderful husband, a fine spiritual leader and a great family man.”
Eugene said: “I would like them to say I was a wonderful teacher and servant of God who made a huge difference in people’s lives.”
Al replied: “I’d like them to say, “Look! He’s moving!”
O God, teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom.
Sometimes it’s hard to face the reality of our own death because death is frightening for most of us. But our greatest fear should be that we’ll fail to live a meaningful life. We’ve all heard stories of people who’ve had a brush with death and after surviving the crisis: See their lives differently. Everything becomes doubly precious. Every day more important. Because people who realize that their days are numbered are more likely to live their days to the fullest. Ironically, it is the certainty of death that gives meaning to life. We only get so many days to make a difference, to make our lives count. Someone said, “The only way to have a good death is to lead a good life.”3
So the psalmist leads us to pray: O God, teach us to number our days that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. Let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us and prosper for us the work of our hands.
So in light of this sad week of more political violence and hate speech I invite you as an act of humble wisdom and honest worship to spend the remaining days of your life facing your mortality with intention and as a result: Live decently in a world of indecency. Renounce violence in all of its forms. Refuse to utter racist thoughts and do not hold racists up as heroes. Hold on to your convictions without demanding that others agree with you. Speak with humility. Seek to understand those who believe differently than you do. Speak kindly to friends and strangers. Share what you have with the poor. Be a voice for the voiceless and powerless. Show grace to those who show no signs of knowing grace. Look for joy everyday. Laugh more. Forgive yourself and let go of your grudges. Be courageous. Take risks. Speak words of appreciation. Whine less over the routine ups and downs. Spend more time on who’s important and less time on what’s insignificant. Love children – your own and other people’s too. Love your parents (if you still have them). Love your friends and, as much as you can, your enemies. Love God. Love your church. Worship honestly. Pray faithfully. Follow the teachings of Jesus. And love one another Amen.
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- Mark Twain, The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, first published 1876.
- Larry King, Remember Me When I’m Gone, Doubleday, 2004.
- William Sloane Coffin, Credo, Westminster John Knox, 2004, 167